


Vision

by Akoya8



Series: Birthday One-Word Prompts [27]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Memory Loss, Of The Temporary Kind, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sansa Is A Jane Doe, There's a car accident, medical drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2190444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akoya8/pseuds/Akoya8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa was involved in a car accident, but nobody knows who she is! Cue panic and start the dramatic music!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vision

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire. It belongs to GRRM.
> 
> Author’s Note: So, I have a confession to make…this isn’t really one of the Birthday One-Word Prompt stories…but I’m going to post it as one anyway. I was bored waiting for an orientation to state, and I was without my writing materials. Luckily, I espied one of those stupid motivational posters and nabbed its word for my own. So, I present to you the unofficial number 27. Warnings include medical drama and OCs.

She heard a loud noise, felt a brief spike of pain, and spots of light danced across her vision.

The last thing she heard before darkness claimed her was shouting, and then everything went black. 

* * *

 

There was a beeping sound near her head, and it seemed to echo. No, not echo, there were other beeps chiming in concert. She tried to lift a hand to bat away the noise, but her arms were too heavy.

Her furtive movements must have caught someone’s attention because there was a voice over her head and words floating through her ears.

“Hey, sweetie, can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can. Jensen, get Dr. Royce, I think she’s coming out of it. Stay with me, sweetie, we need to ask you some questions, okay?”

The words were fuzzy, distant, like speech was some nebulous idea that she was just becoming aware of. She tried to nod though, to show her support of the speaker, if not the actual words. The movement was blocked by something stiff around her neck; her eyes fluttered as she tried to make sense of the object and was praised again by the voice, “That’s it, sweetie, open your eyes. We’ve got some things to talk about.”

Light pierced her eyes as she tried to open them, so she quickly shut them again.

“I know the light hurts, sweetie. You’ve been in a near-comatose state for about three days, so it’s gonna hurt until you adjust. But, the faster you get ‘em open, the faster they’re gonna recover.”

She admitted to herself grudgingly that the voice’s logic was sound and tried again. Light flooded her vision and the dancing spots returned. A dark blob hovered near her, and its head bobbed a few times before coming to a rest. “That’s right. Now, you just keep those peepers open until the doctor has had a look at you.”

Another dark blob came in and stood next to the first. “Dr. Royce is prepping to assist in a surgery. He said to try to get her information now and that he’ll be along later. The surgery is supposed to be short.”

“Oh damn, the surgery completely slipped my mind, and he’s just come on to his shift. Sorry, sweetie, your attending physician will come ‘round later, and he’ll tell you about everything that’s been happening for the last few days. But right now, I need you to do me a big favor: the EMTs couldn’t find any ID with you, and no one at the accident knew who you were. You’ve been admitted as ‘Jeyne Waters,’ but I know that with such beautiful red hair, you’ve got to have a much fancier name than that. Am I right?”

She tried to nod her head again, but her chin bounced off a hard, plastic edge. The movement, though slight, jarred her a little, and her name came stuttering out, “S-Sansa S-Stark.”

* * *

 

The nurse who took down her information was a kindly woman with warm hands, and she patted Sansa’s face gently, mindful of the bruises there.

“Who’s your emergency contact, sweetie? We need to get in contact with them right away!”

Words still being an iffy prospect, she relayed them slowly, “My f-father, Ned Stark. 024 7813882. He’ll be at Weh-Winterfell.”

“Okay, sweetie, that’s great. Now, I’m going to check your drip, and then I’ll let you get some sleep before Dr. Royce comes in.”

Sansa blinked wearily, the blobs were more focused now, and the light was becoming less harsh. Despite the offer of sleep, she felt alert and desperate to know what had happened. The nurse had said ‘accident,’ but Sansa couldn’t remember being in one. She’d been walking, and then…and then nothing. Why had she been walking? The reason as there, but she had a tenuous grasp on it: a meeting with someone, but what was their name? What did they look like?

Thinking was a more laborious process than she had suspected; sleep tugged at her until she succumbed, letting it take her under. 

* * *

 

Sansa woke to the sound of muffled shouting. “What do you mean we ‘can’t see her?’ She’s _our_ bloody daughter, and you have no fucking right to keep us from her!”

The conciliatory voice that spoke next was much quieter, and she had to strain to hear it, “I understand your concern, Mr. Stark, truly I do. But, until I’ve spoken with Miss Stark, informed her of her situation, and have been given her permission to allow you to know such privileged information, I cannot legally, or in good conscience, let you be in the room while I speak with her. After, yes, but not right now. Please excuse me.”

Her door opened and shut very quickly, and a bob was making its way towards her. Sansa was pleased to note that this blob’s facial features were male and that he had a thinning blond head of hair. Light gleamed off the shiny patches of skin peeking through the disappearing strands.

“Ah, good, you’re awake, Miss Stark.”

She felt her lips twist into a smile, “There was shouting.”

The man looked sheepish, “Your, um, father is very vocal, Miss Stark, and he is eager to know your condition. I’m Dr. Royce, by the way, not some random stranger, in case you were worried.”

“My attending physician?”

“Yes, so how about we get down to the business of how you are feeling. I’m going to do a quick check and ask you some questions, okay?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, he shone a penlight in her eyes, remarking, “Your pupils are a bit slow to constrict. That can be attributed to the morphine we’ve had you on to combat the pain. Other than that, how is your vision?”

“It’s getting better. The light still hurts a bit, but things are coming back into focus.”

“Good, good,” he muttered absently. His hands moved to her head, checking gently for any overlooked contusions and swelling, and then he drew back looking satisfied with the results of his search. “Do you feel any pain in your head that you would call ‘abnormal,’ Miss Stark?”

“No, I’ve just got a bit of a headache, but I’m worried because I can’t remember what happened! I know, or at least I’m sure, that I was going to see someone. Then all I can remember is blacking out; is that normal?”

Even though it made her whole body ache (morphine be damned!), Sansa practically shouted the last part, and panic was setting in. “I hate this feeling, Dr. Royce! Every time I reach for the memory, it slides away. Why can’t I remember?”

“Temporary memory loss is not unusual in situations like yours, Miss Stark. I was going to save the full run down of what happened until after my examination, but if it will give you peace of mind, I’ll tell you now. You were involved in a hit-and-run accident. A driver sped through a red light as you were crossing the street, and they swerved enough to miss hitting you head on. Instead, you caught a blow to your side (hence your broken ribs, but we’ll get to those in a moment), and were thrown to the ground.

“You hit your head rather hard, Miss Stark, and it was sheer luck that your concussion didn’t send you into a coma. Your EMTs said that you scored well enough on your GCS not to be in real danger, but you didn’t wake up for a few days. After keeping you under observation, I am more willing to attribute your continued unconsciousness to exhaustion. You showed signs of extreme fatigue that were not caused by the accident. The dangers of overwork and stress are real, Miss Stark, that’s why we place such an emphasis on healthy work habits.”

Dr. Royce gave her a stern look, and she felt her face heat in embarrassment. “It was the end of finals week, and I’d been staying up late to finish two term papers,” Sansa mumbled quietly.

“Hmm, in the future, I hope you manage your time more wisely, Miss Stark. In addition to your extended sleep, there was also the mystery of your identity. Onlookers reported your bag being stolen by a young man at the scene, and the KLPD were unable to find your prints in the system, which was a comforting, if not helpful, thing. So, we treated you as a ‘Jeyne Waters’ and hoped you would wake soon to correct us. Now, I’m going to examine your ribs and legs to make sure that there is no undue swelling or, in the case of your legs, infection. Feel free to ask any questions you may have.”

It took Sansa several minutes to process the information fully: an accident, temporary (and very specific) memory loss, fractured ribs, and some asshole had stolen her purse! The doctor took that moment to interrupt her thoughts by pressing on her ribs. “Ow! I thought you said I was on morphine!”

“Carefully regulated doses, yes, and we’ll switch to a different painkiller now that you’re awake. But, some discomfort will be unavoidable. Your ribs are coming along nicely and should be fully recovered in another three-six weeks. You’re young and healthy, so I expect you’ll be on the lower end of the estimate. However, you will need to limit all strenuous activity, including sex. Right now, the best exercise I can prescribe is breathing. Every hour that you are awake, I want you to take ten deep breaths, inflating your lungs to capacity, as it will help prevent infection.

“Moving on, now your legs had some superficial lacerations sustained when you fell, as well as some bruising. I’m expecting nothing more than standard discoloration and tenderness, but we also need to be wary of infections. You have bandages right now, but if all looks well, we’ll take those off and let your legs get some air. After your discharge, keep up with regular applications of Neosporin or something similar to keep away bacteria and reduce scarring, okay?”

Once again forgetting the neck brace, Sansa tried to nod and was stymied by its presence. “You haven’t said that there was anything wrong with my neck, so why am I still wearing this?”

“Well, on your first evening with us, your AN reported that you were experiencing violent dreams that led you to shake your head about. We didn’t want to risk additional trauma, hence the brace. But, I think that it can come off now that you’ve regained (and maintained) consciousness. What do you think?”

“Yes, gods, please! I’m already tired of knocking my chin into it.”

“We’ll just save your chin, then.”

Sansa let out a sigh of relief as the brace left her neck, relishing her new freedom of movement. “Doctor? You’ve said that I will be discharged, but you haven’t said when.”

“I’d like to keep you her tonight to monitor you. We don’t want you backsliding. Aside from the exhaustion, and the injuries sustained in the accident, you’re in perfect health. Another night will confirm a positive prognosis. Your family can take you home tomorrow, or the next day at the very latest.”

“Oh gods, my family! They’re still out there!”

“Indeed they are. Time to face the music, Miss Stark. I’ll just stand on this side of your bed; your father can be very intimidating.”

“Sorry about that, he’s just like that when it comes to family. If you’re done, I think I’m ready to see them.”

“You’re a brave woman, Miss Stark. I’ll tell a nurse to bring them in.”

* * *

 

As much as Sansa loved her family, their heightened emotions of concern and relief were draining. She gratefully banished them from her room when visiting hours ended, politely ignoring her mother’s insistent declarations of staying with her.

“Mum,” she explained as gently as she could, “the nurses are going to be in and out of here all night, checking in on me and asking questions. I don’t want you waking up and fussing over me every time they do, so go to the hotel with everyone else and come see me in the morning. I love you; I’ll be fine.”

Her firm voice broke her mother’s resolve, and she let herself be led out by her husband, allowing Sansa to relax into much needed sleep. 

* * *

 

Her dreams were fragmented, sounds and images assaulting her one after another. They all seemed to center around one person in particular, a man, and even though he did not smile at her, his face and presence comforted her. He would speak sometimes, his voice low and rich, or he would be silent, letting his hands and his body communicate his desires.

In the dreams, Sansa knew this man, loved this man, but his name eluded her, jumping away whenever she tried to reach for it. She could feel herself growing frustrated with her inability to speak one simple name every time she tried until, at last, she into tears.

The sensation was real enough that she catapulted out of sleep, the man’s name flying from her lips as she did, “Tywin!”

A voice from the shadows of her room answered her, “Yes?” 

* * *

 

When Tywin arrived (late) at their designated meeting spot, he was surprised to find that Sansa was absent.

Usually, she preceded his arrival by several minutes due to the flexibility of her schedule, but she was running late. It was also unusual of her not to inform him of her tardiness . While her behavior was not immediately worrisome, it was irritating. He felt more and more like a fool with every minute that passed while he waited in the teahouse.

Tywin fired off a quick text to ascertain her whereabouts, but received no reply.

His first instinct was to reach for paranoia. Had someone discovered their affair? Was she being blackmailed or threatened with blackmail? The notion was dismissed as quickly as it occurred: any person foolish enough to threaten Tywin Lannister deserved the shallow grave that was their future.

After paranoia came anger: was she leaving him and taking the coward’s way out? That thought fell by the wayside as well; her honor as a Stark would not have permitted her to slink away like some damned dog.

In the end, Tywin was left with unease: she had not made an appearance, his texts went unanswered, and there was a deep-seated fear for her safety making itself known. His only recourse was to contact Varys and let the spider pull some of his threads.

Tywin retreated back to his office to wait for news. What Varys reported was unsettling: he could not locate Sansa; however, there were rumors of a pedestrian accident near the teahouse close to their meeting time. “Assume the worst,” he instructed Varys, “and contact all hospitals within range of the teahouse.”

“My birds tell me there is only one, Mr. Lannister. For now, I will limit my inquiries to its less trustworthy staff.”

“Do it, quickly, my patience is close to nonexistent.”

“Of course, Mr. Lannister.”

When Varys called again, the tendrils of light that heralded the dawn were creeping over the horizon. Tywin had found himself unable to sleep, so he worked and waited.

“The news is not ideal and is mere conjecture unless confirmed by my sight: a young woman fitting Miss Stark’s description was taken to the A&E at King’s Landing General and later admitted. However, she was without identification, so the staff have dubbed her ‘Jeyne Waters’ until she awakens.”

“What do you mean ‘awakens?’” Tywin growled into his mobile. “What is her precise condition?”

“Stable, but unconscious, Mr. Lannister. KLG employs an unfortunate number of discreet individuals; not a one of them would tell me more than cursory information. Would you like me to go and make a visual confirmation?”

“No, I’ll do that myself.”

“Might I recommend you going during a later shift? I would also suggest taking a sizeable amount of money with you.”

“Your suggestions have merit. I will speak with you later.”

Now that Tywin was in possession of a modicum of knowledge, he allowed himself a few hours of sleep. By the time he was awake, Varys had more information.

“Ask for a nurse named ‘Jensen.’ I have been told that he is a nurse on the young woman’s ward and is amenable to bribery.”

Jensen did indeed prove susceptible to bribery (and for a smaller price than anticipated), and Tywin was escorted past nurses and doctors to the room of a nameless woman. Fear and hope warred within him: fear that it was Sansa lying injured in a hospital bed, and hope that he had finally found her.

He opened the door and was met by the sight of Sansa Stark, bruised and unconscious, swathed in sterile white sheets and gown. A breath that he was unaware of holding hissed out between his teeth. Sansa, _his_ Sansa, was alive and relatively unharmed. Black and purple bruises mottled her face, and the slender neck that he loved to caress was trapped in an ugly brace.

The chart at the end of her bed told a grimmer tale: lacerations on her legs sustained in the fall, a mild concussion, fractured ribs, scattered bruising, and, of course, her continued unconscious state. A note from the attending physician stated that they believed her prolonged rest to be just that: resting. Exhaustion was the culprit. Another note stated that the neck brace was to limit the movement of her head (apparently her dreams were vivid enough to translate into motion. Tywin was confused; Sansa was deep sleeper, not prone to moving at all.).

His beautiful girl was lying broken in front of him, and even though he possessed wealth beyond measure, his gold count not entice her from her slumber or make her heal faster. Tywin could not bear to keep looking at her, it was too painful, and so he left, vowing to return the next night and the next until she was awake.

On his second visit, Jensen told him that she had finally regained consciousness and relayed her information. Her family had already come and gone, so he would still have her to himself. He sat in the shadows of her room, waiting for the moment that she would wake and know that he was there. The ugly brace was gone, and though her movements were restless, they were not violent until she startled awake, crying out his name.

“Yes?” he answered calmly, a sense of peace settling over him as he heard her voice for the first time in what felt like forever.

* * *

 

“I remember!”

“You forgot?”

“I was going to meet you when it happened, but I couldn’t remember.”

He was suddenly by her bed, looking down at her with warmth that she had never seen before, “And now that you do remember?”

“I missed you, even when I didn’t know it was you that I was missing.”

“These last few days have revealed your importance to me as well.”

“So, you’ll stay with me?”

“I will stay.”

Sansa smiled up at him and drifted off. Tywin stayed, watching over her for the rest of the night and through the morning. The shouting woke her up, but it could not dim the happiness she felt at seeing him in the morning light.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note Part II: For your general knowledge.
> 
> GCS: Glasgow Coma Scale (its purpose is to assess level of consciousness after head injury).  
> I thought that ‘Jeyne Waters’ would be a Westerosi equivalent of ‘Jane Smith’ or ‘Jane Doe,’ at least in King’s Landing. The other kingdoms were probably like, “Fuck that noise, it’s ‘Jeyne Stone,” or “Jeyne Snow.”


End file.
